Ban Sidhe
by Sapientia
Summary: At first, they're just really vivid dreams, but soon Rowen finds out that his dreams are real and another place. And just who is the beautiful woman in them and who is she in connection to the msyterious archeress that holds such power over him? RowenxSag
1. Default Chapter

**__**

Ban Sidhe

_"Rowen,"_ the voice called softly. That voice, that same cool, fluid voice that seemed to flow and bubble like a stream and yet completely fill his ears and mind with the force of a waterfall. It was the same haunting, beautiful voice that had been lingering in the blue-haired archer's dreams every night for over a week now. In a way, the voice terrified him, and on the other hand, it excited and made him hunger for more. Every night, the voice became less distant, the dreams more vivid, more real, and always one step closer to something.

_"Ro-wen…"_ she called again, closer now, closer than a moment ago and much closer than two nights ago. But the scenery was always the same. Rowen was lost somewhere beautiful, some forest surrounded, mist-filled clearing and the sky shades of young twilight. It was truly breathtaking, but still somehow frightening. Rowen bit his lip lightly; by now he knew he was dreaming, but also that he wasn't alone. But it was time, he declared, to get some answers; over a week with his only sleep coming after waking from this dream wasn't enough to satisfy his body. 

Rowen crossed his arms, shivering faintly in the cool, icy mist; he was only dressed in an unbuttoned work shirt and a pair of boxers, and for some reason this dream felt more and more real. The mist at a point where it clung to his skin and made the hairs on his arms stand on end. "Alright," Rowen called out cautiously, "Come on and show yourself. I know you're there!"

The mist around him thinned, but the twilight sky stayed the same, and the forest trees shuddered from some unseen breeze. It almost sounded as if the forest were laughing and whispering. Rowen frowned slightly, wishing he had a weapon, any weapon, as a feeling grew in his gut that something had indeed heard his request. His eyes darted about, and just as he turned his face back to in front of him was a pair of eyes meeting his. 

The eyes were beautiful, and close enough that he could almost feel the eyelashes. Eyes the color of hues of browns and reds jetting out from the pupil, then bled into a green the color of fresh leaves after a rainstorm, and finally rimmed off like emerald ice. Rowen neither breathed nor blinked, completely trapped within the crystalline forest-colored eyes. Finally he blinked, and gasped as the pair of eyes melted and seemed to wash over the entire forest, smearing the colors and flooding the sky instantly with sunlight. Rowen hissed at the sudden flash of light, and sat straight up in his bed, sweating and panting.

It was three thirty five a.m. and Rowen was once more awake from the all-too vivid dream. He looked around his shared room with Cye, and nodded as he saw that everything was in order as he reached over for his water glass, took a sip, and curled back into bed and fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

The fresh morning sunlight flooded through the opaque white curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. Well, Rowen's half of it at least; Cye's half of the bedroom was closer to the door and away from the window. Rowen groaned and rolled over as the light beamed into his eyes, forcing him to blink several times to adjust to the morning light. As it had been when he woke up earlier, all was as it should have been. The room was tidy, Cye was already up and downstairs, judging by his neatly made bed and the smell of cooking drifting up the stairwell. Pulling himself into a sitting position, Rowen looked over at his alarm clock – it was past nine. Rowen stretched lightly then pulled his face into his hands.

_Must get up,_ he thought to himself tiredly. _Must get out of bed! Be active! If I'm more active during the day, perhaps I'll sleep better at night…_ Rowen hoisted himself up and out of his bed, whose sheets and covers were uneven and twisted about, some half off the mattress and dragging on the floor. As Rowen stumbled over to his dresser, he forced himself to look in the mirror. The black shadows under his eyes had evolved into becoming thick black rings; he almost looked as though he'd either been punched in the eyes, or had a thin layer of black face paint that football players used. He lifted his hand in disbelief to touch gently under his eyes, and then to his hair, where it looked like some scruffy blue cat had nested and died.

After a shower and several long minutes of battling with his comb and getting Mia to show him how to use concealer to hide the black rings, Rowen trotted down the stairs. He smiled as the aroma of French Toast, warm syrup and coffee wafted up to the lower landing and lingered there so nicely. Rowen walked quietly down, trying not to giggle aloud as he heard his British pal singing in the kitchen as he cooked.

"We go on – 'urting each other, we go on – 'urting each o-other, makin' each other cry, tearin' each other apart," Cye sang cheerily as he flipped another piece of toast. Ah, Rowen thought, the Carpenters. 

"Without ever knowing… why." Rowen added in, his voice a bit lower and less sweet sounding as Cye's. Cye turned around, smiling happily at Rowen and promptly handed him a breakfast plate. "Morning," Rowen said softly, carrying himself and his plate to the table, then looked around the house. It was quiet. Too quiet. "Where is everybody?"

Cye turned to face Rowen while he spoke, effortlessly flipping another slice in the frying pan. "My morning's lovely, really. Ryo and Kento are both out running errands for Mia – she finally caught them complaining they had nothing to do today, and she hammered them for all the tabs they left this month. So she sent them off with a list a mile long to go play fetch and tote." He chuckled warmly, removing the last of the breakfast from the hot pan and turning the oven off, quickly separating a few slices onto a plate for him and sitting down at the table. "Sage decided he'd like to spend Saturday shopping for who knows what. And as for Mia and I, I'm going to finish cleaning the kitchen, then we're going into town to just get out of the house." 

Rowen laughed lightly. "Sounds like a plan to me. But what you see now is as far as my personal agenda's evolved." Rowen leaned over to the side, and pulled the morning paper off of the chair next to him, looking for anything that looked remotely interesting. After a few minutes of thumbing through, he put it back down; all in all, a person could find more entertainment in watching paint dry than most of what was being advertised. 

He sighed lightly as he finished his plate, the warm sweetness of the fried bread and smiled inwardly. French toast was just one of those perfectly happy foods that always made you feel all fuzzy inside with childhood memories of your mother or someone making it for you. "You know," Cye said thoughtfully. "On the news earlier this morning they said that this new archery range has just opened today, so prices are half off for the full day, if that's of any interest." Rowen contemplated this thought for a moment.

"Well, it's better than nothing, I suppose." Rowen glanced out the window. It was still very sunny out, but low on the far horizon were a long stream of rain-clouds gathering. 

It was almost noon as Rowen paid his entrance fee and walked through the gates of this new range, _Sherwood_. Though not terribly original in naming, the manager said he named it this because some ancestor of his was supposedly Will Stutley, friend of Robin Hood. Any truth to that was anyone's guess, but it was at least a relatively entertaining thought to bounce around. And the range was pretty cute in itself. On one end was the children's area, where you could take your kids to learn to shoot from professionals and do little arts and crafts and things. The six acres in the middle was like a large role-playing game, where you went through it shooting at moving targets made to look like Prince John's soldiers for points. And to the far left six acres was purely range shooting, each target well spaced. If nothing else, it'll keep me occupied and keep my skills sharp, Rowen thought dryly.

Rowen glanced over at other people shooting as he moved to his assigned target. A young boy stood sharply, young, developing muscles rippling with promise as he fired his long brassy shafts and struck the ring just outside center ring. A woman in her late thirties fired, barely missing a perfect bull's eye. His target was the last one, far from the thread of other people shooting. 

Time, as it does when you're occupying yourself, passed hazily and soon Rowen realized it was almost time for dinner. He turned and glanced about, and saw that the people that had been shooting several targets away were gone now. In fact, so were the targets; the only one he could see was his own, and the small thicket of trees nearby. Rowen walked up to his target, feeling the way he did when he knew something from the Dynasty would attack. But they had been pretty quiet for a while. So why was he so anxious? As he steadily pulled his arrows from the set of rings, he looked up as he heard a faint rustling. 

The trees, he thought. The trees are… _moving_? Impossible! His eyes widened slightly, seeing the few thin trees held up by support poles double in number and seem to inch closer to him. Rowen heavily debated calling up his armor. Maybe… I'm dreaming again… Rowen walked back to his mark and carefully poised an arrow, his muscles slowly tensing as it slid back, then froze in that one perfect moment when your entire body becomes perfectly still with an arrow, and fired. The long, wooden shaft sailed clearly through the air and struck the target, less than a millimeter off from a perfect bull's eye. He stared at the arrow and sensed his surroundings; he was awake, he had concluded, and the trees had stopped shifting. But the area now looked more like a thicket in a forest, rather than a few young trees for a public shooting range. 

There came behind him a shrill whistling and in an instant, another arrow appeared by his own, slitting a deep scratch through his own as it made an absolute perfect mark. Rowen looked at the moon-silver arrow with the white owl feathers, and traced it back to behind him, where another archer stood. The body of the archer was tall, lithe and supple, and dressed slightly out of time, wearing a green tunic with cream colored sleeves, and a Robin Hood style cap. Rowen stared, fascinated with this beautiful person with a perfect shot, until the stranger lifted her head.

The face was oval shaped and fair, almost looking like a sculpted statue. Fine, pale rose lips spread into a pleasant smile, and cool green eyes. Rowen's first thought was the memory of the eyes in his dream. But then again, no, it couldn't be her; lovely as they were, these eyes didn't hold the infinity of the alien forest within them. Finally, Rowen opened his mouth to speak.

"That's a good shot you've got, but shouldn't you keep it at your target for safety's sake?" The figure smiled, then slowly removed the green cap, shaking down long red curls that hung and bounced down her neck and shoulders, and sexily fell over one eye.

"Beg your pardon," she purred, her voice clearly laced with an Irish accent. "But I knew you'd hear it coming. I just wanted to get your attention." Rowen stared, captivated by her haunting face and sweet, low voice. "I'm Ilonwe, and I couldn't help but notice your shot." Rowen smiled politely, nearly entranced by Ilonwe's lovely features, until a fluttering in the back of his mind told him that the forest had moved once more. Glancing around his shoulder, Rowen's eyes widened in shock and confusion; the forest thicket was gone, and the young saplings had returned. He was no longer in the lush green, but back in Sherwood, and the closest target from his was nearly fifty feet to the right. 

Rowen was now sweating profusely, his mind racing with thoughts and confusion. _I'll think on it later,_ he thought, recalling this new lady-friend whom he was talking to a moment ago. Smiling once more, he returned his gaze to the front, only for his smile to melt off in pure and utter confusion. Ilonwe was gone, and there were no tracks in the grass indicating anyone but he had been there all day. _What… in the name of wonder is going on?_

Had Rowen's lack of sleep induced him to see the transformation of his settings and make him think he was seeing Ilonwe? Or was it some trick of the Netherworld to toy with his mind in some new and clever scheme? These thoughts circled through his mind over and over as he gathered his things to leave, noting that soon it would be dusk, and he had been gone all day, lost somewhere between fantasy and reality. He packed up his quiver and unstrung his bow, and walked to the target where his arrow had struck. _Perhaps it really was a dream,_ he told himself as he calmed down, noting that the silver arrow in the target was gone, and that there was no puncture in the bull's eye. But there was, however, a long and fine scratch going down the length of his shaft. 


End file.
